


The Ark

by NimWallace



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Drabble, Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, One Shot, Softie Crowley (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), soft honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 09:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimWallace/pseuds/NimWallace
Summary: "I'm going against the Great Plan," Crowley said, as though he'd been rehearsing it. "So it's technically evil."Or; Crowley can't just let a bunch of kids drown.





	The Ark

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This piece is not meant to be religious blasphemy, simply historically set on the Ark.

“Look. I can explain.”   
  
Aziraphale hadn't really even meant to go to this part of the Ark—he was looking for some food, and he'd sort of wandered down here after getting into a bit of a spat with a _very_ indignant monkey who tried to steal his ring.   
He had expected that maybe he'd find some cargo down here, perhaps even a stray bird or two (they seemed to be very liberal with the winged creatures here) but certainly not a demon with children piled around him.   
Crawly—(or, Crowley, rather) had two infants in his arms and several toddlers curled up by his side. Older children (ages about 6 to 12) were apparently enjoying some apples and generally all looking a bit anxious but not terribly frightened.   
“My dear boy,” Aziraphale said, crossing his arms with a small smile. “Now what is this.”   
“I'm going against the Great Plan,” Crowley said, as though he'd been rehearsing it. “So it's technically evil. Don't think of thwarting me though! I've got a small army now.”   
Aziraphale chuckled softly and took one of the babies from his arms. The little boy whined a bit, but Aziraphale hushed him softly and he quickly fell back asleep.   
“Quiet a demonic deed you've got here,” he said. “I don't think I could stop you if I tried. It's simply too heinous.”   
“That's right,” Crowley said proudly. “Pure evil, I am. Tiatmat, are you still hungry? I have cheese as well.” He pulled a bit of cheese from his robe as though it had been sitting in his pocket the entire time and handed it to a young girl.   
Aziraphale settled next to him.   
“And what do you suppose you'll do with all these children when the flood is over?” he asked him quietly. Crowley shrugged.   
“I suppose I'll find them homes with couples who can't have children,” he said. Aziraphale smiled gently at him. He'd clearly thought this all out.   
“Shut up,” the demon huffed at the adoring look.   
The boat rocked, and thunder resounded loudly overhead. Aziraphale watched as frightened eyes widened and small hands gripped at black robes.   
It was the first time Aziraphale truly saw what Crowley was seeing—small, defenseless creatures, facing wrath they had no idea existed.   
He looked at the demon, who was shushing a baby and rocking it back and forth to calm it. And he suddenly looked very different than he had before—standing in the sunlight, he'd seemed confident ad collected and harsh, but now he looked more like himself—unsure, sympathetic, perhaps even afraid. His eyes were yellowed with focus, but if the children could see that, they didn't seem to care. They gravitated towards him like a compass to the north, looking for comfort in the only place they could find it. Garnering sympathy from the only person—or being, who cared.   
Aziraphale abruptly felt a strong sense of guilt wash over him. Had he really been willing to let these innocent children die only hours ago? It seemed cruel and impossible now.   
Distancing oneself so far from reality that it had seemed justifiable was. . .strange and terrifying. He silently vowed to be more aware.   
Crowley wasn't like that. He questioned things, saw things in his own sort of moral light. Aziraphale was suddenly realizing that he was not a bad person. He felt a bit guilty for thinking he was in the first place.   
He was also realizing that Crowley was not defying the Almighty at all—he was probably doing exactly what She wanted, in fact. That was one of the mysterious ways in which the Above worked.   
One of the older boys—maybe seven or eight years old, looked up at Crowley with tentative eyes.   
“Will you tell a story?” he asked. “To distract—the younger children from the storm.”   
“That's a good idea, Ashur,” Crowley said softly. “Let me tell you about the first storm.”   
The kids all gathered closer to him, pressing nearer to listen.   
Aziraphale smiled.  
As Crowley dove into the tale, he sat back and watched him with a knowing grin until the storm had passed and the rainbow appeared. 


End file.
